


Holo-day Miracles

by TheUnburied



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnburied/pseuds/TheUnburied
Summary: Mirage has crafted some special gifts for the rest of the legends, but when his train skids off the rails, an unlikely companion takes the burden from his shoulders. It is up to Bloodhound to finish what Mirage has started.A feel-good holiday story full of magic, snow, and wintertime cheer for every legend.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Holo-day Miracles

The train careened down the mountain, its smoke offering an appropriately filthy backdrop to the disheveled conductor who squinted in the biting wind. His goggles had blown off when the train picked up speed, leaving him defenseless against the snow that cut into his already scarred skin. For once, Mirage wasn’t occupied thinking about his presentation, or what his speech would sound like, or what _war_ this weather was waging on his hair (though that last part still lingered at the back of his mind). Instead, he understood the urgency of this delivery, and more importantly, he knew how he would look if he screwed this up,

“Can this thing go any faster?” The wind carried his voice off, but the decoy probably wouldn’t have responded either way. He’d know -- he didn’t program it to say anything. Still, after so many days and nights of the same, endless expanse of winter, anything at all was a welcome reprieve. Elliott was no stranger to the sound of his own prattling,

“Oh _no,_ it's fine! Don’t get up, I’ll take care of it!” He ducked down below the control panel, and though he was mostly shielded from the violent flurry (maybe he should’ve shut the windows), it was still difficult to see past the scarf that wildly whipped around his face. He wouldn’t let that deter him. With the careful movements of an experienced electrician, and the brute force of a drunken mechanic, he popped a small hatch open and began pecking away at a holographic interface. He blinked away a couple more blurry snowflakes and yanked the scarf off when it shot back up for his face, but by the time he'd managed to orient himself again, the screen flashed a violent, red warning,

**'DANGER: SLOW DOWN'**

To think, he'd programmed the train to warn him when things got dangerous, but hadn't thought to put in safeguards to prevent it in the first place. No time for hindsight -- with frantic fervor, he pulled the emergency brake as the train’s alignment on the tracks began to wobble. There was a violent lurch, followed by a sudden feeling of weightlessness. For a split second, Mirage thought the train was flying, just like in the movies. 

He hit the snow a moment later, and lost consciousness as the train rolled past.

\---

When he awoke, all he could sense was the smell of Bloodhound’s home -- a fragrant, earthy scent that lived in the walls. His vision was blurry from the snow, or the wind, _or_ the concussion (he still wasn’t sure which). But despite all reason, the moment he realized who was sitting by his side, his first instinct was to defend himself from their judgement,

“I didn’t actually think I was flying.” Elliott blurted in a sleep-addled voice, and though he couldn’t read the expression behind their mask, he heard a monosyllabic chuckle -- a cold comfort from his humiliating mishap. He tried to sit up, if only to regain a bit of his dignity, but Bloodhound moved quicker. They managed to be both gentle and firm as they pressed the man back down again,

“Your injuries do not appear to be serious.” They spoke sagely to mask their concern, “The snow was fresh enough to soften your landing. Nevertheless, you should rest for awhile. You’ve been unconscious for some time.”

He was almost afraid to ask, “...How long?”

“Half of an hour.”

“Oh... That’s not so bad.” He tried to sit up again, but they ushered him back down, “You know, I’d love to take you up on that-- the resting thing-- really, but I’ve got places to be -- important places! Not just, y-you know, the bar or whatever--”

“You were making a delivery.” They cut him off before he could get any more panicked, “I know, for I saw the gifts fall. With the help of my friends, we collected them once more. I will hitch my dogs to a sled so we may pull it to its destination.” With delicate movements, they brushed a stray strand of matted hair from his brow, letting their gloved knuckles graze comfortingly down his cheek, “I know where you are going. I always have. Fate has led you to me, but you cannot make the trip alone. Rest now, Elliott, and when I bring the others their reward, they will know it is from you.”

He was reluctant to give up such an important task (and all its glory) to somebody else, but the pounding in his head and the warm fire against the wet chill of his clothes raised a pretty convincing argument. If there was anyone he could trust with this, it was Bloodhound. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days, and he must’ve looked like it, too,

“...Well, as long as it isn’t much trouble.” In other words, he was already sold on the idea. The tracker rose to their feet and gently pulled a blanket off the neighboring couch, draping it over the man and his waning consciousness,

“Nothing you ask of me is too much trouble, _Elskan_.”

\---

When they arrived at the lodge, they were met with a small gathering of faces. An array of emotions were written across their expressions, from dread etched on the palest of them, to guarded anticipation on the wisest. Gibraltar and Bangalore came forward to unhitch the dogs and haul the presents inside. When the gifts were arranged on a small podium by the fireplace, Bloodhound led the legends within and took their place at the front. A palpable silence fell over the group, bitten into by the dogs’ quiet panting, before their modulated voice softly spoke up,

“Your gifts this year are not typical…” They began, idly resting a hand atop the pile, “But they have been crafted and chosen for you with great care.” They’d know, for their ravens had been watching Mirage as he engineered his magic into each and every one. There was a reason they were the one to find the train wreck -- the gods had chosen them to be Elliott’s messenger, and they were proud to uphold that duty,

“On this day, you will not be disappointed, but your lives will be changed forever. Most of these gifts have been imbued with a magic only found deep beneath the ice and snow. Elliott has been listening to you all, and he has carefully created something with each of you in mind. Come forward.” Anybody who hadn’t taken a spot on one of the couches moved in to fill the empty space on the rug. Bloodhound raised the first box -- a small blue package, and beckoned to Wattson,

“Natalie…” they extended it to her, and she took it with care. Inside was a small notebook with frayed edges, “You are given the knowledge that your father and mother are watching over you. They are proud of your accomplishments, and of the woman you have become.” Her expression softened. She opened the notepad, only to find it empty, “You are also granted the peace of mind and quiet to focus on your work, any time you wish.”

“Anita, we do not know if you will see your family again.” They extended an ammo box with a polaroid camera inside, and Bangalore took a moment to enjoy the smell of the rusted metal, “But your gift is a new family, one that will be with you forever, and with whom you may make new memories. We are all blessed to have you here.”

“Marvin--”  
“Hi, friend!”  
“Greetings…” their smile was audible behind their mask. They offered a large envelope, loaded with travel brochures, “You are given a purpose -- to experience life to its fullest, and to live freely and frivolously. Your creators will reveal themselves when the time is right. Until then, you are liberated.”  
“Hooray!” He ripped open the package with fervor, spilling a few brochures on the floor in the process, “First stop, Dionysus! Say, didn’t Mirage go there one time?”

“Ajay.” They gently interrupted him, gesturing the younger woman forward. Inside a small, sealed bag, was a humanitarian ribbon with her name on it, “You gain the understanding that your wisdom is never taken lightly. You are respected, and you will forever be rewarded for what you do for others.” 

“Renee,” She uncurled herself from off the couch and leaned forward to accept a small, violet package. Inside was a puzzle box, but it’d already been solved, “for you, you are granted the knowledge that your past is behind you, and that the woman you are today is because of the memories you have now. You have already completed the puzzle, long ago. You may be at peace.”

“Alexander.” While Caustic grew tense, from the back of the room, Crypto shot him a look as realization crept into his eyes, “You are given a pardon for your misdeeds, and the understanding that your work does not need to be done at the expense of others.” They extended a plain parcel to him. Inside was a chrysanthemum in a small clay pot.

“Doctor Somers.” they gestured her forward and delicately slipped something into her hand -- a written note, neatly bound by a ribbon, “There is no magic in this gift, for it is not magic you require -- only the name and location of your grandson.” The smile that’d been plastered across her face faltered, and something tender and anxious took its place.

“Octavio--”  
“ _Hells_ yeah, finally! You took forever. I thought you were never gonna get to me.” He came forward, nearly tripping over a table leg in the process, and flexed his fingers at Bloodhound. In return, they placed a flat, green parcel in his hands. When he shredded it, inside was a small mirror,  
“You gain love, in the most unconditional manner. You no longer need to fight to be noticed -- your true loved ones are watching, and they always will be.”

“Miss Parekh,” She scoffed and hopped from her spot, pulling her gum out of her mouth and putting it behind her ear. She didn’t get a package like she’d hoped, but a small envelope instead. Bloodhound’s words hit hard, but inside the letter, a photograph of her as a little girl hit harder, “You gain the understanding that you are not loved for your accomplishments, or because you think you are superior to anybody else. You are simply loved for being you.”

“Makoa, you gain forgiveness for your mistakes.” They produced a parcel and extended it to the man, whose gaze softened as he took it. He’d seen what the others had gotten, and while he didn’t know what he’d receive, he could already predict its nature, “You also gain the knowledge that your presence alone makes up for your supposed wrongdoings, at least in the eyes of those you love.” He delicately opened his parcel and withdrew a handful of gift cards to a few different coffee shops in town.

“Loba.” She uncurled herself from the couch like a snake, languid and controlled, before coming forward with a sway of her hips. They set a heavier package in her arms, “You have suffered greatly, but your pain does not define you. You are a person with much potential, and you are given the opportunity to let go of your past, and create your future.” Inside the box were two wrapped wine glasses, and a bottle of white wine. She could recognize the label of her parents’ favorite drink from anywhere.

“Hyeon…” the two of them stared at each other, long and silent, before Bloodhound raised a small data chip with a bit of mistletoe clipped to the end, “The location of the person you are looking for, encrypted in a cipher you wrote. You are also granted the knowledge that she is safe, and well.” The hacker hesitantly came forward and took the drive. As he drifted away from the crowd, trying hard to pass off as apathetic, Bloodhound could see his hands shaking.

The next word that came out of their mouth was a name nobody recognized, but when they uttered it, something dark lithely dropped from the ceiling,

“Summoning ghosts, are we? Careful, you don’t always know what you’ll get …” Revenant towered over them as they turned, but they were unafraid. With movements that managed to be both confident and tender, they offered forward a small gift box, just big enough to fit in the palm of their hand. The Simulacrum took it with prejudice, only prompted when Bloodhound gestured for him to open it. He cracked the lid with a huff, then fell very still. Carefully, thoughtfully, he closed it again, his soulless eyes drifting from the present to the presenter,

“I’m not thanking you.” He said flatly, before he turned and leapt back into the darkness of the rafters above. That was the last time any of them ever saw the Simulacrum.

\---

Satisfied with their work, they stepped away from the fireplace. By the time Loba began passing the wine bottle around, Bloodhound felt weary from the constant travel and social interaction. But they still had one more thing to do. They quietly bid their companions goodbye, and shut the door to the sound of warm merriment within.

Some time later, they returned to their home. The smell of cooking meat was intoxicating, and they briefly wondered when they’d last eaten. Artur swooped down as they stepped inside, alighting on their shoulder and offering a contented chitter. They found Mirage in the kitchen, cooking a modest steak dinner from their most recent hunt,

“How’d it go?” He asked, and while his expression was bright, tension tugged at the edge of his voice, “I mean, it went well, right? Of course it went well, couldn’t go any other way, n-not with you taking charge.”

They raised a hand to quiet him, and when he finally stopped stuttering, their reassurance came gently, “It went well.”

“Did Wraith like her present?”

“Yes.”

“What about the talking robot?”

“Pathfinder enjoyed his, too.”

“Did you tell Ramya she was the worst?”

“...No.” They brushed past him to reach onto a shelf, pulling down two small cups, “I skipped that part.”

“I don’t blame you. Probably would’a sounded better coming from my mouth. It’s the way I say things. My voice can be a bit beg- begu-- begullib-- _charming!_ ”

“A bit.” For a moment, Elliott wasn’t sure if Bloodhound was quietly agreeing, or _actually_ teasing him. He decided to accept the latter,

“...Sooo… did you get your present?” the man asked, watching his host as they plucked a bottle of something dark and malignant off a shelf, and began pouring a portion into each cup. A beat passed, before they gave him a level stare, 

“Yes.”

“And?” He swallowed hard,

“I told you, your company is a gift enough.” They extended one of the glasses, and Mirage took it. Before the two of them shared a drink, Bloodhound raised theirs in a toast,

“To Elliott Witt, I give you the knowledge that you have done enough for others, and that you are loved for what you do.” they lowered the cup, “And I give you the promise that you will always find yourself in good company.”

They tipped their mask back to take a drink. Mirage followed suit, coughing quietly into his hand. And as the man went back to cooking their “Holo-day dinner,” he felt something overcome him that hadn’t taken root in awhile.

Peace.


End file.
